


The Bad Ending

by bupine



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Pandora's Vault, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Semi-Realistic Minecraft, Tales From The SMP, Time Travel, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), im adding tags as i go, the world is ending crabrave, tommy has p to the t to the s to the d, yes i said time travel fix it au time babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bupine/pseuds/bupine
Summary: The final Battle of the Discs, but Punz doesn't save Tubbo. AKA; "hey, you could make a time travel au out of this."
Relationships: TommyInnit & Clay | Dream, Tommyinnit & Wilbur Soot, Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Comments: 41
Kudos: 404





	1. The Vault

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: death (nothing graphic but yeah people die), suicidal thoughts and mild self harm (once again nothing graphic tommy's just not doin too great at the start here), panic attacks, manipulation (c!dream am i right), basically all round a not good time. i promise this whole fic isn't just gonna be an angst fest ok

"I wanna give you a chance to say goodbye."

  
Tommy bites back the anger that rises in his stomach like bile, pressing his lips together to hide the trembling. "I'm not gonna fucking _say goodbye_. We'll fucking get out of here, alright?"

  
_"You'll_ get out of here." The masked man tilts his head. His voice is so light and casual, like they're discussing the weather, and Tommy can hear a smile in his voice. "Tubbo won't."

  
Tommy takes a sharp breath. Beside him, Tubbo makes a strangely guttural noise in the back of his throat. He's gone pale, his pupils dilated with sudden panic, and Tommy tries to keep his voice steady as he speaks. "Are you serious?"

  
A small giggle. "Of course I am."

  
"You can keep the discs." He winces at how small he sounds, how helpless. He's begging. It's pathetic. "But - but me and Tubbo will go."

  
Tommy feels like the walls are caving in on him. Solid black stone, too even, too new, a ceiling that he could barely see the top of, nothingness and nothingness, and the discs - those photos of the discs. The hallway of things that Dream wants to take from people. It makes Tommy sick that the man made this. Why does a place like this need to exist? It's beyond just Cat and Mellohi, it's _obsession,_ and Tommy is scared. This isn't what he expected when he came here. This isn't what he was ready for.

  
"Oh, Tommy," the man chastises teasingly, like he's telling off a child. Wilbur used to use that tone of voice when he was pulling the _I'm-big-brother-and-I'm-in-charge_ routine, and Tommy had hated it. But this is so, so much worse. So much worse. "I don't care about the discs. I care about _power_. And the thing is, Tubbo here -" He grabs Tubbo's shoulder, and Tommy's heart rate spikes as the older boy yelps, his whole body tensing. "Tubbo here is just a pawn."

  
"I'm not a pawn," Tubbo mumbles, but his voice is almost too low to be heard. Tommy grabs his hand and yanks him away from Dream's reach, glaring pointedly at the man. His fingers are going numb, but he doesn't let go, he doesn't let go.

  
"Tubbo's not a _pawn,"_ Tommy says shakily. He tries to sound brave, he does, but Tubbo is tracing his thumb along the back of his hand and he can't think, because there has to be a way out of this. "He's not."

  
Dream sighs dramatically, disappointedly, placing one hand on his hip and looking almost bored. "Look, just - say your goodbyes. Just say your goodbyes, and -"

  
_"No!"_ Tommy screams, and takes a step forward and shoves Dream away from them, his heart about to burst from his chest, adrenaline numbing him. "No, fuck you, bitch! Fuck you! _Fuck_ you!"

  
"Tommy!" shouts the man in the mask, and he just sounds exasperated, not angry at all. Tommy wishes he were angry. "You're going to miss out on your chance to say goodbye to your best friend! Because I'm not kidding, Tommy, I'm going to kill him! I am!"

  
"You're _not!"_ Tommy cries, and he can't help the way his voice breaks. _I will not cry in front of Dream and Tubbo. Never, never._ "You're fucking not! You're not gonna!"

  
Dream rolls his head almost unnaturally, and Tommy takes an uncertain step back, blinking rapidly as his vision blurs. "You're going to miss out on your chance," the man says patiently, like he's explaining the rules of a game to a child. "And then you'll regret it forever. So listen - I'm gonna walk over here. Just over here, and you can stay there. So…" A breathy laugh leaves him, and Tommy hates him, he hates him more than anything else, hates him so much it's a pain in his chest, hates him so much it stings behind his eyes. "Say your goodbyes."

And then Tubbo's hand silently slips into his, and the smaller boy gently pulls him across the room, eyes downcast. They're both shaking, badly. Tommy can't breathe right. But they'll make it out of here, they _always_ make it out; they're the duo that doesn't die, the duo that sticks together. Dream can't separate them anymore. He can't. He _won't_.

  
"He's not gonna kill you," Tommy says immediately. Tubbo's green-blue eyes are welling up, and Tommy almost wants to slap him, because he looks so defeated and they _can't_ be defeated. That's not how they work. "You've seen how he works, he's deceiving, and he _needs_ us, needs _me_ \- I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll make a break for the portal, run all the way back to mine, cause I have the secret portal that leads to the exile place, and -"

  
"We'll be dead before we can get to the portal," Tubbo murmurs. He sounds so ridiculously calm despite his damp eyes and shaking hands. "Too much of a distance."

  
Tommy can't believe what he's hearing. "Tubbo, I -"

  
"We did all right," Tubbo says, louder this time, and he smiles and Tommy feels like he's just been punched. "We had some laughs, didn't we? We did alright."

  
Tommy laughs out of pure shock. "Have - have you just accepted it? Don't just _accept_ it, now! We never accept defeat, Tubbo, never -"

  
"There's nowhere to go, Tommy, nowhere up or down -"

  
"We have to try -"

  
"It's over." Tubbo's voice is light, the slight trembling giving his fear away. "But it's alright. We had some laughs. And… all good things must come to an end eventually."

  
This can't be happening. After everything, everything, Tommy isn't going to watch another person he loves die. He isn't. He _isn't_.

  
The older boy continues as the tears begin to fall, rolling down his scarred face and landing on his green shirt, making dark stains in the material. "I didn't think it would end like this," he laughs shakily. "Really, I came in here with high hopes, plans for the future, and now this is the end of all we -"

  
"Tubbo, _what am I without you?"_

  
Tommy can't see, and now he realizes he's crying too, which isn't right because _Tommyinnit doesn't cry,_ he's too brave, too on top of things, too much of a big man. But now a sob catches in his throat and he's so scared that his breaths aren't coming in right and he's dimly aware that he hasn't had a panic attack this bad since Pogtopia, since before Wilbur died. His older brother was always there to bring him back down from it, to ground him. He's not here now. No one is but Tubbo, and there is no time for counting or breathing exercises, not when time is ticking and Dream is somewhere behind them, waiting.

  
The silence that hangs in the air is deafening. Tubbo's dark hair hangs in his face and he shakes his head to brush it away, not letting go of Tommy's hands, not letting go, not letting go.

  
"Yourself?" he says, softly, like it's a question that he's waiting for Tommy to answer.

  
And Tommy _shatters,_ leaning forward until his head is pressed against Tubbo's chest as his shoulders shake, great, heaving sobs wracking his whole body. He hugs himself, and Tubbo doesn't let go of him, his fingers instead grazing the top of Tommy's head like he knows brings the younger boy comfort. He can't catch his breath. He can't. Not while there's a chance Tubbo won't be by his side, not while there's a chance he'll be alone again. _Don't let go. Don't leave._

  
"S-so you're accepting this," he forces out through gritted teeth, shuddering. "You're just…"

  
"Yeah," Tubbo whispers. He smooths Tommy's hair back, trying to calm him, holding him close. "It's alright. It's alright! It'll be ok, anyway - we said our goodbyes already at the start."

  
Tommy stands up straighter, his head level with Tubbo's, staring over his shoulder so the boy can't see his face. "But we were optimistic! We were having some banter, some jokes, and we were _optimistic_ \- this isn't what -"

  
He glances over his shoulder, shivering against Tubbo's chest. Hugs are a rare occasion for Tommy - physical contact in general is. He wishes he could savor this one. But Dream is there, smiling, smiling, that wide, triumphant smile painted on his white porcelain face. This can't be real. It can't be.

  
"He described me as a pawn," Tubbo murmurs. "This is it. This is checkmate."

  
He pulls Tommy away from him to face him, and Tommy burns red in shame and fury as the other boy smiles for him, just for him, when he's about to die. "And I suggest you resign."

  
Tommy shakes his head. "Tubbo," he says, calmer now, because the numb disbelief is setting in. "All the way through this - this entire server, I've regarded you as my sidekick and everything - I - I was _your_ sidekick, Tubbo."

  
Tubbo laughs wetly. "Ha."

  
"Please don't go," Tommy whispers, so quietly that Dream can't hear. "Don't let go."

  
Tubbo lets go.

  
"It's about time," he says, and he turns away from Tommy to face the eternally smiling white mask that's haunted Tommy's nightmares for so fucking long, ever since that day in the Final Control Room when he cracked his head open trying to get away from him after watching Tubbo die for the first time. Full circle. "It's about time."

  
A sword materializes in Dream's gloved hand, and Tommy's breath hitches. No. _No_.

  
Someone is coming through the portal.

  
Tommy's head snaps up, eyes wide with hope. It's Punz - the man Tommy had figured out was Dream's spy. He had paid him off in stacks of diamonds, TNT, gold and netherite, and had left a desperate note pleading for Punz to choose the right side and save him and Tubbo if they needed it. And they do need it. _Please,_ Tommy thinks, unable to say a word as the blonde man steps further into the room, expression unreadable, glowing armour over his usual casual hoodie. _Please, please, please._

  
"Ah, Punz," Dream says lightly, waving a hand in his direction. Without warning, he grabs Tubbo by the back of his neck and shoves him to his knees in front of him, both boys immediately crying out in fear and panic. Tubbo hisses through the pain, but he's still smiling, smiling for Tommy and Tommy alone. Dream laughs at the sight before turning back to Punz again. "Escort Tommy here to the main holding cell while I take care of Tubbo here. Sam will be waiting for you. He won't cause trouble, trust me."

  
Tommy's eyes are wet and wide, fixed on the man in front of the portal, who is adjusting his hoodie under his armour and studying Tommy coolly. The boy begs with his eyes. Punz's expression doesn't change. He takes a breath, and for a moment Tommy's heart leaps - they're saved. They're _saved_.

  
"Of course," Punz says flatly, and goes for Tommy.

  
The boy reacts immediately. _"Don't fucking touch me!"_ he screams, lashing out immediately the way Techno taught him once - thumb on the outside of his other fingers so as not to break his hand, fist heading straight forward to keep momentum - and colliding with Punz's nose. The man barely makes a sound, instead sweeping a leg out and catching Tommy's ankles easily. He topples, grabbing at the front of Punz's armour, kicking and howling like a fucking animal because _he will not be caged,_ he will not _lose,_ it can't end here, it _can't_. Someone is lifting him into the air and he hears a potion bottle smash, smells the harsh tang, feels the slow heaviness sinking into his bones as it takes effect. "Let me go, let me go," he cries, sluggishly, his brain slowing already, struggles fading. "Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, _Tubbo -"_

  
Tubbo's eyes are huge and his face is wet and Tommy's so scared so scared so scared so _scared -_

  
"Say bye bye, Tubbo!" says Dream in a cheery tone, waving mockingly, his sword right above Tubbo's neck. Tubbo gasps, still trying to smile even as he breaks.

  
"Tommy," he sobs, "Tommy -"

  
And then the sword falls and the world ends.

* * *

Tommy jolts awake with a scream.

  
This is not the first time he's woken like this, especially as of late. He's had this same nightmare every time he's slept for the past week, which is why he's been pulling all nighters instead. Keep yourself awake but try not to _think_ , is his new motto. Distract yourself by tearing up sheet after sheet of paper and whistling along with the clock on the wall. It doesn't help that for a split second every time he snaps back to consciousness, he completely forgets where he is.

  
_The village, the SMP, L'manberg, Logsteadshire, Techno's house, Snowcheste_ r. None of them are right. He's always deluding himself thinking he can hear Wilbur softly humming to himself as he makes breakfast, thinking he can smell Techno's sickly sweet potions as they come to a boil next to the fire, thinking he can feel Tubbo, warm beside him on the bed, an arm around him, sleepy sighs leaving him as he stirs.

  
Tommyinnit is in Pandora's Vault.

  
The first night, he does nothing but scream.

 _"Punz!"_ he roars, slamming his fists down on the netherite blocks that keep the bubbling lava that covers his cell from spilling inside. "Sam! You motherfuckers, you pieces of shit, you cowardly, pathetic bastards! You stupid fucking spineless traitors, you worthless _scum_ on this fucking SMP, let me the fuck out of this bloody cell! You fucking arseholes, you _monsters_ , you _monsters!_ How, _how_ can you fucking sleep at night? You pieces of shit! _Let me out!"_

  
That goes on for hours until Tommy's voice literally gives out and his scratched throat fills with blood and he can't even cry for the pain that scrapes him every time he so much as breathes too hard. No one comes. Tommy doesn't scream anymore.

  
At least, not willingly. He stays awake for his first three full days in the prison, punching his arm to avoid nodding off, smacking his head against the wall just hard enough to cause pain that would keep him awake. It's fucked up, sure, but Tommy is determined not to let his guard down while in here, to not give anyone an opportunity to sneak in and hurt him while he can't defend himself. The silence is so fucking overwhelming, so heavy; all he can hear is the lava that cocoons him, hissing and dripping down the obsidian that surrounds him, sizzling when it touches the surface. It reminds him of Logsteadshire. The white noise makes him want to cry, and there are several occasions where he can't help a wet, hiccuping gasp as everything becomes far too much. But he won't sleep. He can't. He can't, until he passes out in the middle of pacing his tiny room and dreams of Wilbur, Tubbo, dying three times in front of him, six lives of two brothers that Tommy could have saved if he tried hard enough.

  
That was the first time he woke up crying out, names already crammed in his throat, desperate to claw their way out. "Tubbo!" he screams, nails digging into his arms as he tries to ground himself, where is he? "Tubbo, Wilbur, Tubbo, Tubbo, _Wilbur_ \- where, no, no, Tubbo, please…"

  
He sits against the wall and shakes until Dream visits him for the first time.

  
"Hello, Tommy," are his first words. Emotionless, face unreadable behind the plain mask he never took off, the ominous smile that Tommy despised so much ever present. A black cloak draped over his green jumpsuit and netherite boots. He towers over the boy, who is still slumped on the floor and tugging at his hair. "I heard from the guards here that you've been causing a few problems."

  
Tommy bites his tongue in an attempt to stop his voice shaking. It doesn't work. "Your fucking guards?" he says hoarsely, coughing into his dirt and ash stained sleeve. Gods, he smells bad. He refuses to use the small shower in the corner of his cell, not when he's so exposed to the rest of the room. "Which traitorous bastard are you referring to? Sapnap? Punz? Who else have you got out there, fuckin' Antfrost? _Georgenotfound?_ Is Sam complainin', or did you use the motherfucker to build your shit and then toss him aside as soon as he was done?"

  
Dream is, as always, unfazed. Tommy's so furious he wants to scream. "I just came here because I figured bad behaviour could be a result of isolation. You liked it when I visited you in exile, didn't you, Tommy?" He tilts his head. Tommy imagines a smirk under the mask. "It feels almost the same now. Once again, I'm your only friend."

  
"I have friends," Tommy snaps, voice breaking as it embarrassingly rises in pitch with his anger. "Loads of 'em. But you know, I can't see any of them now, can I, you fucking prick. I hate you. Stupid motherfucker in your stupid motherfucking smiley face mask, edgy bastard. You too ugly to show your face? Is that why you never show it? Are you like fuckin' Medusa, Dream? See, I can do the Greek myth shit too, not just Techno. Do you turn people to stone with your crusty fuckin' face? Yeah, I bet you do."

  
Dream patiently waits for Tommy to finish. Once Tommy's sank back against the wall, trembling still and breathing hard from his outburst - he'd rather die than admit how much energy that had sapped from him, how close he is to passing out - the man continues. "Tommy," he says softly, like he's speaking to a toddler. "I know it must feel bad, being alone again. But I can assure you, good behaviour is the best way to do well in here."

  
Tommy summons the driest wad of spit he's ever held in his mouth and launches it towards Dream. It misses. The masked man stares down at it, his body language conveying an aura of silent disgust. Tommy wipes his mouth, still trembling. "Fuck you, bitch. In fact - you're not even a bitch. Bitch is reserved for people I don't fucking despise. You're worse than - than any of the terrible words I know. And I know a lot of them."

  
Dream is silent for about thirty seconds. Tommy doesn't have anything left to say, and if he did, he's too exhausted to say it. Then the man speaks. "How about this. You behave, and I'll let you have one of your discs."

  
Tommy's head snaps up so fast he gives himself momentary whiplash, nearly blacking out and clutching at his head. He hears Dream chuckling softly before he opens his eyes wide, daring to hope. "A disc?" he whispers, unable to help his lip trembling. "I - I don't - I don't believe you."

  
Dream raises an eyebrow and pulls up a glowing white screen next to him. Tommy, of course, can't see his inventory, the same way he can't see the contents of the Enderchest that the masked man materializes in his hand and places on the floor in front of him. He holds his breath as Dream slowly pulls out two vinyl sleeves, one green, one purple and white. Cat and Mellohi, distinctly _his_ Cat and Mellohi - Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur and Fundy had doodled on the backs of the sleeves one evening in the Camarvan, a couple years ago. The boy can see Wilbur's familiar scrawl, the words "silly little child with his silly little discs :P" across the top. Fundy's helpful message of "uncleinnit sucks ASS" with a crude drawing of a dick next to it. And Tubbo's… Tubbo's doodles of bees and flowers, bows and arrows, of Henry, Tommy's old cow, and of the four of them together, in their van. In amongst all the messy doodles, the words "tommy is a clingy arsewipe (but I love him anyway) are more prominent than ever.

  
Tommy had punched his arm and called him a sap for that, but he'd stared at the writing for hours afterwards.

  
"Give me them," Tommy demands, trying to sound confident. "They're mine and I deserve to have them back. Come on, man, you've taken everything else from me."

  
Dream laughs again. "Tell you what. You pick a disc, and I'll let you keep it overnight. Tomorrow, I'll give you a jukebox to play it on. The next day, I'll take it back. And if you can be good for four days after that, making it one week from today exactly - I'll let you have a visitor."

  
Tommy isn't weak. Tommy doesn't bow down. Tommy doesn't give in to stupid fucking bribes from anyone, especially not _Dream_.

  
"No," he says certainly. He crosses shaking arms across his chest. "You can't break me that easily."

  
Dream doesn't say another word before leaving. They both know what Tommy said was a lie. _You can't break me that easily._

  
It had taken three weeks for Dream to break Tommy during his exile.

  
It only takes four days this time.

* * *

Tommy's first visitor is Fundy.

  
The fox hybrid is brought over on the sliding redstone platform, gliding over seas of bubbling orange lava and looking nervous, tugging his sleeves and biting his lips with sharp fangs. The netherite walls are brought down, and Tommy catches a glimpse of Sam, coated in gold armour, face hidden behind the gas mask he never takes off. The creeper hybrid doesn't look at Tommy once before the walls come back up with Fundy inside. The lava flows down the side again without fail, and Tommy takes a look at the man.

  
Fundy looks awful. He's in his human form, as he always is when he's anxious or scared. Fiery ears poke through his black cap, bright orange hair exploding outwards from his head. His dark brown fox like eyes have bags under them, his pale skin greyer.

  
"You look like shit," Fundy says. His usual cheery tone is low and hoarse, like he hasn't spoken in a while.

  
"Could say the same for you," Tommy replies. His tone is the same.

  
They look at each other for a moment before Fundy hesitantly steps forward and opens his arms. Tommy weighs the pros and cons for only a moment before allowing himself to fall into his nephew's arms, his chin resting on the top of his head, the fox's arms warm and heavy around him. The hug is nice. Tommy hasn't been hugged since the day Tubbo died, and before that, since he was with Techno.

  
"Things are so fucking awful out there, Tom," Fundy chokes out, and Tommy realizes the smaller man is crying, shaking against Tommy's chest. "Dream's been - I don't know how much I should say, but the - the walls are getting rebuilt. Not just around L'manberg, around the whole of the main SMP - some builds are currently inaccessible unless you tunnel, and tunneling isn't legally allowed anymore outside of the walls. Tommy, your house is - or what left of it - it's gone. Yours and Tubbo's tunnels are gone. Even Pogtopia - everything that was left - fuck, dude, it's so bad. It's like that time me and the Butcher Army put Grandpa under house arrest, except _I'm_ Grandpa." He giggles wetly, clawed fingers digging into Tommy's shirt. "I'm so fucking sorry."

  
Tommy blinks away stinging tears and swallows hard. He almost wants to push him away, to scream and shout at him, to call him a traitor for siding against them during Doomsday - but he can't be bothered to be angry anymore, not now. "Don't be, you're alright. Not your fault. How is - everyone else? Phil, Techno? Are they still with Dream?"

  
Fundy sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "They're gone. They ran away. Left behind their fucking cottage and shit - Dream, Punz and Sapnap searched the place before they blew it up. They took all their valuables. No one knows where they've gone."

  
Tommy frowns, absentmindedly running his fingers through Fundy's hair like he used to do with Tubbo. "Wasn't Ranboo staying with them? Is he ok?"

  
Fundy visibly stiffens at the name of his old friend. "Don't fucking know. But I…" His voice gets smaller. "I hope so."

  
"I take it the two of you - never made up? I know you fought over stupid shit, sides and crap."

  
"...Yeah. God, Tommy, I'm a fucking idiot."

  
"You're alright," Tommy murmurs, and it feels strange to let himself be so soft towards anyone, especially Fundy. But Fundy is Wilbur's, and Tommy watched him grow up, and he can't help but feel a strange protectiveness towards him. "I think you've done really fuckin' good, Fundy. For real."

  
They're still holding each other, and don't stop until Sam arrives to silently escort Fundy away ten minutes later.

* * *

The next visitor, a week later, is Puffy.

  
This is someone Tommy hadn't expected to see. He frowns when he sees her in her usual red pirate's jacket and headband that holds back her rainbow fur from her face. "Hullo," he says, feeling very out of his depth. He hasn't slept in a full day at this point, and wonders if he's hallucinating again. "Uh, evening, Cap'n."

  
He's surprised when Puffy tears up, yellow sheep eyes squinting as the water falls down her face. "Oh, Tommy," she sobs softly, raising a hand to the boy's face. He flinches, hard, and the knight steps back immediately. "How are you? Silly question, sorry - are they treating you ok? Are you eating? You look so tired, dear, have you slept? Are you well?"

  
Tommy blinks against the barrage of questions that don't compute properly in his sluggish brain. "'M alive," he says stupidly, rubbing his temples as the promise of a headache throbs. "How's the SMP? Fundy, Ranboo? Ghostbur - I forgot to ask Fundy about Ghostbur, how is he?"

  
Puffy seems to sag, although Tommy doesn't know why. "Fundy is ok," she murmurs. She takes a couple steps closer to the bed where Tommy's curled up, smiling reassuringly. "I'm just gonna sit here, if that's alright? You can say no."

  
The tiny shred of pride that Tommy has left spikes indignantly at how Puffy treats him like a kicked puppy, but the rest of him is too exhausted to be anything but grateful that she's actually respecting boundaries, even asking if he's ok. He nods, silent, and she sits before going on to answer his questions fully.  
"Fundy is living next to the ruins of L'manberg at the moment," she says casually, twiddling her thumbs in her lap and staring at the floor. "Built a small house there, since he and Niki can't access Drywaters anymore. They're together; him and Niki." She blinks, pressing her lips together and taking a moment to compose herself. Tommy should ask what happened with her and Niki - hadn't they been so close? - but doesn't, just waiting for her to go on.

  
"Ranboo's living near my holiday home," she eventually continues. "Eret is close nearby as well; her and Ranboo have formed a friendship, it seems, which I'm grateful for. Jack Manifold made house right next to the walls, doesn't talk to many people. Techno and Phil are gone, Quackity and Karl keep to themselves, Ponk, Hbomb, Connor, George, Bad and Ant - they're all ok. They're all ok."

  
Tommy raises an eyebrow. There's one person in particular she's left out. "And Ghostbur?"

  
Puffy winces. "I'm - I'm sorry, Tommy. I haven't heard from him in weeks - barely ever spoke to the man. I do hope he's ok, though, I do. I'm sorry, kid."

  
Tommy hugs himself tightly, taking shallow breaths and feeling far too hot, familiar sharp pains flaring behind his eyes as pain throbs in his temples. "Don't call me _kid,"_ he mutters, bile rising in his throat. "Only Wilbur's 'llowed to call me that."

  
Puffy nods rapidly. "Ok," she says. "Ok."

  
There's a pause.

  
"I've heard whispers of rebellion," the woman says under her breath, so softly that a hiss of lava could carry her words away. "From Eret, from Jack, from Fundy. There's an unease growing in our SMP, Tommy. A revolution rising on our doorstep. And I guarantee that if - when - the opportunity rises, we _will_ be there to answer it."

  
Tommy listens to the hum of crackling magma on his roof.

  
"Be safe," he whispers, just as quietly.

  
There isn't much to say after that.

* * *

His third visit is even more of a surprise than the second one.

  
"Jack Manifold?" he says incredulously as the netherite walls come down to reveal the lanky boy in his suit, 3D glasses and headset, grinning awkwardly. Tommy's heart pangs at the sight of a brown Snowchester jacket, tied around his waist. "The fuck do you want, bitch? Here to end my last life? Dream'll chop your dick off."

  
Jack grimaces, stepping inside to avoid the wall closing on him. "Gods, no. I'm not here to _kill_ you, although I - I take it someone told you? About me and Niki?" Tommy nods silently, and Jack's expression grows more embarrassed. "Shit. I am - so, so sorry, Tommy, for real. This isn't what… this isn't what I wanted at all." He plops down next to the wall across the room from Tommy - probably recognizing that the boy would take a swing at him if he got any closer, Dream be damned. "And I'm sorry about Tubbo."

  
Tommy narrows his eyes. "Bullshit," he spits. "You were using him for his weapons to get to me."

  
Jack's body tenses. "Uh… how do you know about that, anyway?"

  
"None of your fucking business," Tommy shoots. He's shaking, although with hunger or lack of sleep, he doesn't know. "Fuck off. I don't want you here."

  
He's lying. Tommy fucking hates Jack Manifold, but he's so desperate for company that he thinks he might break if the man tries to leave. Luckily, Jack doesn't move. "Can I tell you about what's going on outside?" he says, glancing around the room and looking slightly uncomfortable. "Gods, this cell is shit. You've not got a lot. How've you not gone completely insane?"

  
Tommy can't help but laugh at that, and he doesn't answer.

  
Jack suddenly looks concerned. "Oh fuck, I kinda forgot about Logsteadshire or whatever it was called. You're not still suicidal or some shit, are you?"

  
Tommy reels back slightly. "Fuckin' Ender, Manifold, you really do not hold back." He blows out his cheeks, trying to inconspicuously pinch his arms to keep himself awake. "Just tell me what's going on outside. How's Ghostbur? Ranboo, Fundy, Techno? They're the only people I give any shits about. No, that's not true." He considers. "It's kind of true. Ignore me, Jack Manifold, I'm sleep deprived."

  
Jack looks like he's going to say something different, but backtracks. "Wil- Ghostbur hasn't been seen on the SMP in fucking weeks. Ranboo and Fundy are alright - I saw them talking yesterday, actually, glad for them. Techno…" He glances back and forth, then slowly scooches across the floor so he's sitting cross legged across from Tommy. "Don't tell anyone, but I've spoken to him and Phil. They're alright!"

  
"Techno's alright?" Tommy whisper-shouts, eyes wide.

  
Jack nods furiously. "Mhm! And Phil, I notice you didn't mention Phil."

  
"I don't give a shit about Phil, he's an arsehole and he doesn't like me. Tell me about Techno."

  
Jack raises an eyebrow. "Isn't Phil your dad?"

  
_"No,"_ Tommy shouts loudly, although he's very much lying. _"Fuck_ Phil. Tell me how Techno is or I'll kill you."

  
The older boy snorts. "Dude, you look like you'd pass out if you stood up for longer than five seconds. Anyway, Techno and Phil have… relocated. We're doing _anarchy_ , Tommyinnit. We're going to take a stand against Dream."

  
Tommy's breath hitches. "Really?"

  
Jack nods. Then his face lights up, and his jaw drops. "I almost forgot! Techno wanted me to tell you something."

  
This is exciting enough that Tommy immediately sits straight up, which makes his head spin so badly he nearly blacks out. "For real? What?"

  
Jack glances at his feet. ""Stay strong, Theseus. Be smart on your way to Athens.""

  
Tommy lets out a breath and leans back against the wall, disappointed. "That's all? He knows I hate his Greek myth bullshit."

  
Jack clicks his tongue, hugging his crossed legs to his chest childishly. "Well… he also said he loves you?"

  
Tommy's heart skips, and he stops breathing for a moment. "He… he did?"

  
Jack takes one look at his face and wilts. "No. I, uh, thought you could use some motivation or something, but now I see that was rather stupid of me."

  
A bolt of hot anger and embarrassment at his own pathetic hopefulness runs through him, and Tommy suddenly remembers exactly why he hates Jack Manifold. "Fuck off," he says, far too loudly. "Fucking bitch. Tell Techno he's a huge cunt and I hope he chokes on a gapple seed. _Don't_ paraphrase."

  
Jack sighs, unfolding himself and preparing to get to his feet. "Fine. But, uh…" He leans forwards, and he smells strangely like ash and cinnamon. "We're planning a raid within the next week. There's a lot of us, a lot of us against Dream - he doesn't stand a chance. We'll get you out of here, alright? I promise. I promise we'll be back for you." He straightens, fixing his tie casually. "Until next time, Tommyinnit."

  
And as much as Tommy hates Jack Manifold, he can't help but feel just the slightest rush of warmth at his words.

  
"Until next time, Jack Manifold," he replies, and passes out from exhaustion as soon as he's alone.

* * *

There is no visitor next week. Not even Dream.

  
His discs vanish one night and he doesn't know who took them.

  
His food is delivered through a redstone chute.

* * *

The next visitor is Ranboo.

  
"Ran-bow!" Tommy shouts as soon as he sees his familiar black and white hair and smart suit, golden crown floating gently around his head. The older boy smiles weakly as he enters, and Tommy is so ridiculously lonely and touchstarved and scared that he nearly bursts into tears then and there at the simple sight of another living being. "It's - It's you!"

  
Ranboo doesn't sit, and just dithers in the centre of the room, mismatched eyes flickering around the room with worry. "Heya, Tommy," he greets uncertainly. "Nice, uh… nice decorations you've made."

  
The "decorations" in question are twenty seven notebooks that had been left for Tommy to write in, which he had torn to shreds and thrown around the room in a rage that he didn't remember fully afterwards. That was also the reason for his badly bruised, bloodied right fist; he thinks he punched a wall and split his knuckles, but isn't sure. "Thanks," he says casually. "Ranboo, Ranboo, Ranboo, holy shit. You're _here_. I've been alone for almost two weeks, Ranboo, I've been losing it, I've been fucking losing it, man." He gestures around the room. His books were not the only thing damaged; his clock is smashed into pieces, his chest destroyed, his bed collapsed against the wall. "I don't know if you can tell. Ranboo, by the Gods, tell me what's been going on outside. Come sit next to me on the floor, please, I haven't seen anyone in so fucking long."

  
Ranboo seems to wilt. He drags himself over to Tommy and slides down the wall beside him, so close that Tommy shudders. He resists the urge to lean against the Ender boy for comfort and just fall asleep, instead inspecting Ranboo's closed off expression. "What's wrong? Come on, man, I'm tired of being kept in the dark."

  
Ranboo makes a pained Enderman screeching noise, promptly covering his mouth and looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I, uh… bad things. Bad, bad things. Tommy, I'm sorry."

  
Tommy's chest suddenly feels tight. "Sorry for what? Come on, give me the _t_ to the _e_ to the _a,_ as the kids would say. What's been going on?"

  
The room is hot, the lava too loud. Ranboo's jacket scrapes against the wall, and Tommy winces. He keeps his eyes trained on the other boy as he speaks, quietly. "Well," he starts, biting down on his bottom lip. "It's… been bad. Techno and Phil and their anarchy club launched an attack on Dream in an attempt to take down the tyranny of the server and bring freedom back to our SMP. And it… it went badly."

  
"How badly," asks Tommy, barely as an actual question.

  
Ranboo stiffens, curling into himself. "Dream wasn't alone," he whispers, voice trembling. "He had Punz on his side. Sapnap - Sapnap decided to abandon his post in here, in the prison, to go against him and fight back as well. So did F-Fundy, Niki, Jack, Eret, Quackity. It wasn't enough." He blinks rapidly. "Tommy, I'm _sorry."_

  
"Sorry for _what,"_ Tommy shouts, hugging himself to stop the shaking. "Ranboo, you're sorry for -"

  
"Phil's dead," Ranboo blurts, and he covers his face as Tommy's blood runs ice cold. "Dream executed him as a show of power. He only had one life. Then he - he - he took two, two of Techno's lives and locked him somewhere in this very prison. And he… Jack lost a life to Punz. Eret nearly died as well. And Quackity - Dream's taken him almost as a hostage. He's holding his life over everyone's heads, making him do his dirty work. The walls are getting taller and closing in further, Tommy, and he's going to kill me next. Dream knows I used to live with Techno and Phil. He knows I cared for them. He'll be after me next, and then I'll be gone, I know it. He'll make me his next example."

  
Tommy isn't processing any of this.

  
Philza. His dad. His _dad_. Techno, in this very prison. Ghostbur, gone. Tubbo, dead. His whole family, disappearing before his eyes.

  
His head's swimming and suddenly he feels someone shaking his shoulder, someone holding him close to their chest and shouting. "Tommy!" Ranboo cries, a tinge of fear in his voice. "Man, are you ok?"

  
"Think I passed out," Tommy mumbles, clutching his spinning head. "Philza's dead. Techno's being held here, in this prison. Holy shit. Holy _shit_ , Ranboo."

  
"I'm so sorry," Ranboo sobs again, still covering his face and trembling. "Tommy, I tried my best, I did, I swear I did. But I couldn't do anything. It was - it was awful, but Techno fought so hard - he - he was shouting for Wilbur at one point, he was shouting for you - Tommy, I'm sorry."

  
Tommy's shutting down. His fingers are numb and he can't hear Ranboo's voice. The older boy gets the gist and stops talking, instead gently leaning his weight against Tommy and bringing him back to Earth until it's nearly time for him to leave again.

  
"I wish I could get you out of here," Ranboo whispers to him. "And I - I wish I could have helped save Tubbo. He didn't deserve any of this, he deserved it least out of everyone - I tried, Tommy."

  
"Shut up about him," Tommy hisses, hot anger warming his face. "Just shut up."

  
Ranboo stiffens.

  
"He spoke to me before you and him went to fight Dream," he blurts out. "In Snowchester. He told me that if he died, when he died and you made it out - he told me to make sure you knew he loves you and not to beat yourself up about whatever happens. Said to, uh… find and name a bee after him."

  
That does sound like something Tubbo would say. Tommy finds himself falling, falling, nails digging into his skin and sweaty hair blocking his view of the hot obsidian floor.

  
He knew he was going to die. He _knew_. He knew that, one way or another, he'd end up sacrificing himself for those fucking discs.

  
_"The discs were worth more than you ever were."_

  
Tommy doesn't say another word for the rest of the visit.

  
Ranboo smiles at him as he leaves, the same way Tubbo had when he knew his time had run out.

* * *

Nearly two weeks pass without anyone.

  
In the middle of the second week, the food stops coming, and the clock on the wall stops ticking.

  
Tommy, by this point, is just waiting for the end.

  
He doesn't know what's happening outside, and he's lost the energy to care. Has Techno escaped and left him behind? Is Ranboo actually dead? Is Big Q ok with Dream? Is Fundy safe with Niki or Eret? He doesn't know, and as time slips by silently, the answers matter less and less. He is simply going to die. Dream has gotten bored of him and is ready to let him go. Finally, fucking finally, he is ready to let him go.

  
_"It's not your time to die yet, Tommy."_

  
_"It's never my time to die."_

* * *

There is someone opening his door.

  
There is someone silhouetted against the lava, slowly trickling to a stop.

  
Silence, pure silence, for the first time in months.

  
It hurts more than the sound had. But he doesn't give enough of a shit to do anything about it.

  
"Tommyinnit. Tommyinnit. Hey, hey, I'm talking to you. Talking to you down there, Tommyinnit."

  
He knows he's hallucinating again, but by the Gods, it's a change. So he summons the strength to glance up, staring at the blurry shape of a hooded person above him. Fuck, but he's never been so excited to see such a familiar hood in his life.

  
"Dream, Dream, Dream," he sings softly, cackling to himself. "Got bored of the SMP without me? Here to kill me? By the Gods, make it quick, or at least make it bloody _interesting_. I'm so fucking bored, Dream, I've been losing it a little."

  
The figure frowns. "Not Dream," they say, and hold out a hand for Tommy to take. "Here, I'll help you up. You, uh, look to be in no state to walk. Ender, you're so _thin_. How long have you been in here?"

  
Tommy waves his hand vaguely before gripping the one of the person above him, letting himself be raised off the obsidian floor. He instantly feels ten times weaker, immediately missing the stable heat the stone had provided him with and whining as his head spins so badly that he knew he'd vomit if he had anything left in him. As it is, he retches several times, doubling over and nearly passing out. The person who's holding him lets the boy fall against their body, and Tommy takes the opportunity to sag weakly against the support. "Woah," says his savior, laughing nervously and clinging to Tommy tightly. "You're - Gods, you're not well at all. I'll have to get you food and stuff, oh dear - I have some in my inventory. Here, out of the cell. I built a bridge, and the lava's draining."

  
Out of the cell? Tommy can't even fathom. But he doesn't have the strength for a smart remark, and maybe he finds himself passing out against the gentle touch of the person carrying him - he'd cry at how soft and sweet they're being if he wasn't sore from dehydration - until he stirs again, somewhere completely different now. Where is he? It's dark, red, and he can still hear and smell the lava.

  
"Things have gone to hell," he hears the person who'd been carrying him admit. Tommy realizes he's now been placed gently on the ground, two hands holding up his head. "Tommy, I need your help. There's no one else left, I tried to prevent all this, I did - but I failed. This was the best ending I could get. And now… fuck. I'm not gonna make it much farther."

  
Something is brought to his lips, and Tommy nearly chokes as cold water washes down his sore throat, cooling his body and dripping down his chin as he gulps it down. When the bottle is removed, Tommy finally finds it in him to sit up on his elbows, ignoring his muscles screaming in pain, and looking properly under the hood of his mysterious rescuer. "Holy shit," he croaks as he registers who it is he's looking at. "Karl Jacobs. Fucking hell."

  
Karl grins crookedly, swiping away his dark fringe with gloved fingers. "That's me. Good to see you alive and - well, alive."

  
Tommy laughs hoarsely, his elbows giving out as he lays back on the floor again. They're outside the cell, he knows; he can see a ceiling, far above them. "Alive? Am I actually alive still?" he asks incredulously. "Fuck's sake. Karl, you know, you're the last person I thought I'd be 'allucinating as I died or whatever, but shit's weird, I guess. Hey, speaking of, what's that red shit on the ceiling?"

  
Karl glances up at the thick crimson vines that Tommy has just noticed, tracing the ceiling in knotted tangles. "That's… unimportant. Tommy, I need you to listen to everything I'm about to say very carefully, ok? Tommy? Make sure you listen to me."

  
"'M listenin'," Tommy mumbles. He's not really. His vision's blurring and he's slowly tumbling in and out of consciousness. "Talk to me, Karl Jacobs."

  
The man clears his throat, breathing loudly and lifting Tommy further up in his arms. "Right. Everything's gone to hell, Tommy. Dream went off the rails, S-Sapnap and Techno are dead, Ranboo, Niki and Jack Manifold were taken by the Crimson - I've been hiding away with Quackity and a few other survivors but it's not been enough. Dream's power wasn't even enough. If he hadn't made us all stay here within these stupid walls, we could have _escaped_ , we could have made some sort of _plan_. But now we're literally straight up doomed. The Egg's taken everything in the SMP, Bad and Ant and Sam and Punz and everything - and Dream _still_ couldn't let go. He knew you'd die in here and didn't give a shit. Tommy, between Dream and the Egg, we're basically straight up doomed."

  
Tommy doesn't understand. Egg? Something about Sapnap? Walls, power, doomed? "What egg?" he mumbles, struggling to get the words out. "'N Techno - Techno, wait, Techno's gone? _Techno?"_

  
"Yes," Karl says hurriedly. "Tommy -"

  
"Technoblade never dies," Tommy laughs, voice slurred. His head is spinning so, so badly. "Don't be fucking stupid, Karl Jacobs."

  
"Tommy!" Karl shouts. The silence afterwards is deafening. "Tommy, through all the pasts and futures I've been to and seen, I've always found one connection. _You_. You, Tommy, connect everyone and everything on this SMP. That's why you're here, that's why you're _here_ \- Tommy, you have to be the one to fix everything."

  
He's suddenly being yanked to his feet, crumpling against the older man immediately as soon as all his weight is back on his legs. "What?" Tommy says, suddenly slightly more alert and confused. "Techno - Techno's not dead, Karl, what's this egg? What'm I connectin' - Karl Jacobs, talk t'me -"

  
Then two items are being shoved into his hands. A thick, worn book, with crumpled pages and ash on the cover, and a golden watch, black ink numerals painted on the white surface. Tommy's hands shake as he takes them, and he can't seem to look away. Karl's eyes are red (since when were they red, had Tommy just never noticed?) and wide and filled with water and urgency. "You gotta take this stuff, Tommy, and get the hell out of here. I can't do it myself anymore - memory's fading, and the C-Crimson - you have to take responsibility, now. Keep Dream out of control and keep that Egg from spreading. You can fix all of this, Tommyinnit. I know I'm right to trust you."

  
Tommy sways. Under him, the remains of lava bubbles and hisses, a familiar song. "I don't know what the hell you're on about," he mutters, clutching his head as pain throbs behind his eyes. "Your eyes are dead red, Karl, are you high? High on _mari-juana_ , Karl Jacobs? Setting such a bad example, you are."

  
Karl shakes his head, frustrated. "Tommy, this is serious. You're going to have to be careful where you're going, you're going to have to listen carefully -"

  
The world is turning white, his vision flashing like it does when a migraine is on its way, but slower. He doesn't think he can hear.

  
"- butterfly - you heard of - careful, if you - Dream - _Tommy!"_

* * *

He wakes to see a dog on his chest.

  
"I - what the _fuck?"_

  
His voice is cracked, and he coughs several times into his sleeve as his brain rushes to comprehend everything that's happening at once. The dog is white and shaggy, a yellow collar around his neck that read "Pee Dog: The Sequel." His paws are muddy, and he manages to track even more dirt across Tommy's chest as the boy frantically attempts to scramble up and gauge the situation.

  
He's outside now. Tommy hasn't seen sunlight since before Tubbo died, and now he can see the trees stretching tall and lively, swaying against the vibrant blue sky, cool grass under his burnt fingers, patches of light illuminating his torn, dirty clothes and ash stained skin. He's surrounded by - by life, by coloured flowers and bushes and leaves that are just beginning to tinge auburn as they tumble to the ground. Tommy digs his fingers into the ground and examines the dirt beneath his nails. Real. Real? Tommy has never admitted it to anyone, but the line between hallucinations and reality has blurred for him a great deal since Logsteadshire, and there's no way this can be real. No way. Not when he was just in a prison and now he's in a forest on a cool, sunny late summer day, smelling moist earth and honeysuckle and the sharp scent of moss clinging to the oakwood trees.

  
The dog is still sat next to him. Wagging his tail, thumping off the ground in rapid succession, a pink tongue hanging dopily from his mouth as he gazes at Tommy with wide brown eyes. Tommy frowns. Pee Dog. What a stupid name. Why does he recognize it?

  
"Pee Dog!" comes a voice that pierces through the relative silence, a voice that startles Tommy enough that he leaps to his feet and scrambles behind a particularly wide tree that hadn't been chopped down yet. He breathes in and out sharply, the cool wind raising goosebumps on his bare arms - nearly two months in a prison surrounded by lava has made him far more susceptible to the slightest cold - and grips the tree behind him tightly, unmoving, as someone crashes through the trees.

  
"Pee Dog Sequel!" cries Wilbur Soot, Tommy's dead brother, who can't logically _be_ here, who, when the boy shakily peeks round, is full of colour, cheeks pink and chestnut hair bouncing and L'manberg uniform donned in smart blue, white and red. _Alive_. He grins, brown eyes sparkling as he obliviously ruffles his dog's fur and clips a lead to his collar. "Dumb fucking dog, I do love you. You wanna go see Tommy? You wanna go see Tommy, dumbo dingus?" His voice rises in pitch, speaking in a babying tone. "Let's go see Tommy-Wommy and Fundy-Wundy and Tubbo-Wubbo, silly Pee Dog! And if you run off again, I will leave you for the _zombies_ , I swear -"

  
He pauses. Tommy's breath hitches and he darts back behind the tree, his lip quivering with fear and panic and a million unanswered questions as he hears Wilbur take a few steps forward into the clearing where Tommy had spawned. "What's this, now?" he asks himself softly. Tommy is too scared to look. _""Tales from the SMP,"_ by Karl Jacobs… and some pocketwatch that I assume is also his. I'll have to give these back to him later. Right, come along, Pee Dog!"

  
Tommy turns and exposes himself recklessly as he hears his brother walking away, dog in tow of his black uniform boots. _Wilbur_ , he wants to shout, and he's shaking as he watches the two of them leave. _Please, please come back._

  
Usually, this is where the dream or hallucination will end. But it doesn't. Tommy just stands stupidly in the middle of the trees, barely noticing how his hands sting from how hard the bark had been digging into his skin. Weird. He usually can't feel real pain in dreams. _Well, that rules that out._

  
He supposes he'll have to explore whatever hallucination he's trapped in now, and sets off in the same direction Wilbur had gone.


	2. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy adjusts himself to the new world he's found himself in, and figures some things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: mild manipulation n shit (yknow c!dream), unreality

Tommy follows Wilbur all the way out to the edge of the forest.

It becomes slightly easier to tell where exactly they are as the minutes go by. The trees become sparser, making it harder for Tommy to hide but also alerting him to the fact that they're getting closer to civilization and places where lots of people are. The floor is tracked with footprints, and he begins to see things he vaguely recognizes: a blue hoodie - one of Skeppy's, it looks like - hanging from some branches high above; a broken knife stabbed into a tree trunk, the handle snapped off; a shattered potion bottle, leaking blue liquid that glows faintly; a bush that's been crushed like someone sat on it. All these small details are beginning to make Tommy feel more and more uneasy as they go. His hallucinations were never this detailed, never this _real_ , and he's starting to feel the effects of those near two months trapped in a tiny, hot prison cell while barely eating or sleeping. His stomach rumbles, and the burns on his skin are starting to sting, badly. He has to slow down a few times, his chest too tight to breathe, his ribs aching and his head spinning with light and high pitched ringing.

"Pee Dog!" Wilbur calls again, whistling. The dog runs back the way, and Tommy hears his brother laugh. "I see you've found someone."

"Indeed he has," comes a new voice, a deep, familiar British accent that feels like a stab in Tommy's chest. He can't even look as he hears someone else's footsteps, and knows who it is who's walking up to Wilbur on the outskirts of the forest. "May I ask why you named him Pee Dog? It's a very interesting name, don't get me wrong -"

Wilbur laughs. "Evening, Eret. And it's kind of an inside joke from SMP Earth. Speaking of, have you seen Tommy? We need to prepare for tomorrow."

"He's in L'manberg," Tommy hears Eret say. "Last I saw him, he was with Fundy, building some redstone contraption outside the Camarvan. They're saying it's a "trap" for the Dream Team, but honestly, I think they're just messing around."

Tommy shifts behind his tree, shaking his hands out to try and regain some feeling in them. It was taking a moment for all his thoughts to catch up with him. "Fair enough!" Wilbur chirps from behind, and Tommy sags with relief as the two soldiers begin to walk away. "Find Tubbo and tell him to meet us at the van. We need to discuss attack plans - you come as well, as quickly as possible. Heel, Pee Dog."

"I'll be there within the next fifteen minutes," Eret says. His tone is serious, and Tommy doesn't need to look to know he's saluting as he walks away. "Stay safe, Wilbur."

This time, when Wilbur leaves, Tommy doesn't follow. Because it's just hit him that this situation he's in is real.

_This is real._

A million thoughts race through his brain, and he can't make sense of any of it; how has he traveled through _time?_ Judging by the L'manberg uniforms and Wilbur's casualness with Eret that had vanished after the soldier's betrayal that seemingly hasn't happened yet, then he is at least two years in the past. All he remembers is Karl Jacobs, dragging him out of his prison cell, crimson vines tracing the ceiling, babbled rambling about Techno and Sapnap being dead. It had all felt like a fucking fever dream, and now, cold realization is setting in and freezing him to the spot. How can he be here? Why? What had happened that led him to this exact spot, on this date?

What even _is_ the date? It might help to know, he thinks. It's before Eret's betrayal, he knows, which was on… what date? And wait, hadn't Karl Jacobs joined the server _after_ the Independance war? He has no fucking clue. All he can do is wander the edge of the forest, mind buzzing, until he comes across a small wooden house.

Now _this_ is unfamiliar. Why doesn't he remember this? In any case, the build seems to be unoccupied, and he barely hesitates to dart inside and click the door shut behind him. No one follows, and Tommy exhales slowly, leaning against the door with a sigh of relief. 

The place is small, all one room with only a single other door. There's a small bed that touches three of the walls, a bookshelf and plantpot that hangs from the ceiling, a small window over a desk that's covered in stacks of paper, and a red carpet that matches the bedcovers and curtains. Tommy walks in and practically collapses onto the bed, shaking badly. His clothes are dirty and stain the sheets, but he doesn't care. He's noticed two chests underneath the wooden desk; a normal one, and an Enderchest.

Now, the thing here is. Will the contents of Tommy's chest be that of the future, or the past? Will he find his discs in there? Just the thought of that makes his heart speed up. He could have Cat and Mellohi, no strings attached, no fear of them being taken away or burned. He could craft a jukebox and just play them again.

Hesitantly, hesitantly, he traces his hand along the dark green stone, gently glowing obsidian warming his skin. The lock clicks. Should he even open it, when he doesn't know whose house he's -

_Tommyinnit!_

_Hello again, Tommyinnit!_

_Where are we? Have you got your discs?_

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Tommy's Chat is back.

* * *

When Tommy was eight, and Wilbur was sixteen, his brother taught him about Chats.

"Chats," he had said, sitting on a couch in the living room with Tommy's little legs swung across his lap. "are something that every Player who spawned on this server has. They're like… a small group of people inside your head that only you can hear, who can sometimes do things like sense danger and give you warnings or advice. Depending on the person, they can be loud and disorganized, sometimes extremely unhelpful, sometimes just - _so_ annoying." Wilbur took a deep breath, tugging on the ends of his sleeves. "Like right now, for me."

Tommy had been fascinated. "Are they talking to you?" he asked curiously, flapping his hands in wondrous excitement. "How many of them are there? Who are they? Why are they called "Chats?" Do they have per-son-ali-ties?"

Wilbur laughed, ruffling Tommy's hair and leaning back against the wool cushion. "So many questions, and I shall do my best to answer them all. They are talking to me, yes. They've gotten all excited 'cause I'm telling you about them. The number of how many voices there are differentiates from person to person, but I believe I have at least seven. No one quite knows why Players spawned in the Dream SMP have Chats and no one else does, and no one knows where Chats come from, either. The name "Chat" came from a Player gone long ago, and it's short for "Chatter," 'cause that's all they fucking do." He tapped the side of his head at that one, wincing. "And they don't have personalities or names and such per _se_. Some of them are louder than others, and they occasionally have differing opinions, but the general consensus between them is that they want to yell at you. All the time. Gods, it's _all_ the fucking _time."_

Tommy giggled at Wilbur's frustrated cursing. "Is there a way to make them shut up?" he said, wide eyed as he rocked himself slowly on the spot. "And when do you start hearing them?"

"You can sometimes get them to be quiet," Wilbur said. "Usually when you're content, or when you're just in a good mood. They're louder when you're upset, hurt, in danger, or, evidently, when you're talking about them." He rolled his eyes dramatically, pulling a face that made Tommy laugh harder. "Mine call you _Littleinnit_ , by the way. Thought you should know."

Tommy's gleeful grin immediately morphed into a pout. "I am not _little!"_ he shouted indignantly, crossing his arms. "I'll have a grow spurt one day, Wilbur's Chat! Then you'll see!"

Wilbur tossed his head back and roared with laughter. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you will," he agreed warmly, pulling Tommy onto his lap and cuddling him close. "You'll get voices of your own when you're twelve. They usually come in round about that time. So you've got another couple years, at the very least."

* * *

When Tommy was twelve, no voices came.

"Are you completely sure there's nothing?" Wilbur had asked, over and over and over. "Not even one? I've never known anyone with just one, but maybe you're the first, maybe it's just -"

"There's _nothing,"_ Tommy snapped irritably, wringing his hands in front of him and staring at Wilbur's wooden room floor. Beside him on the bed, Tubbo bounced uncertainly, looking rather out of place and tapping a tune on his legs. Wilbur was rooting through his bookshelf, his menu open beside him as he tapped out a message that Tommy couldn't read. "Really, why's this such a big deal? Maybe they're late. Maybe I don't have a Chat. What's it matter?"

"Yeah, what's it matter?" Tubbo echoed, shooting Tommy a supportive smile. For some reason, this just annoyed him further and he glanced away.

"It's perfectly, uh, _ok_ to not have a Chat," Wilbur said hurriedly, poring over a thin blue book that he'd sat on his knee. "I'm just wondering _why_. Hey, maybe they _are_ just late. Who knows! I'm asking Technoblade right now, he knows about Chats the most."

Tommy brightened. "Technoblade?" he shouted gleefully. "Will we get to see him? Tubbo, we might get to see the Blade again!"

"Yes, yes, yes, the Blade is so cool!" Tubbo crowed, beaming and clapping his hands. "Wilbur, Wilbur, is the Blade coming back here?"

Neither boy noticed how Wilbur visibly stiffened at that, not looking up as his lips tightened and eyes narrowed. "He's not coming here," he muttered tensely. "The Blade and _Philza_ are a bit too busy right now to come home at all."

Both kids sagged with disappointment. "Still with Philza?" Tubbo groaned, pouting. "Philza's not very nice. Technoblade should find someone nicer to make empires with."

Wilbur startled, then laughed awkwardly. "Phil - Phil's nice," he said lamely. "Just a little… absent. But no, Techno's not coming. I'll tell you what he says later though, ok?"

Later that afternoon, when the kids had gone out in the garden to play with Tommy's new football, the younger boy had a question to ask. "Tubbo, you wouldn't think I was _weird_ if I - if I didn't have a Chat, right?"

Tubbo automatically shook his head. "'Course not," he said, trapping the ball under his foot and clumsily kicking it into the air. "I mean, my Chat is only, like, three voices. When I talked to the Blade about it, he said he'd never known of anyone with as little as three. Told me I was lucky." He suddenly punted the ball in Tommy's direction. "I don't know why. I think he doesn't like his Chat."

"Yeah, he's said that before," Tommy said. He blocked the ball from his makeshift goal effortlessly, catching it in his hands. "Tubbo, you're shite at this. And your Chat is really nice comparing to Techno's, from what I've overhead Will saying. Maybe I _am_ lucky, ha."

Without warning, he booted the ball towards Tubbo's goal. Tubbo attempted to block it with his body, and was slammed into the fence with a loud _"oof"_ when it collided with his stomach. "I'm ok," he said, dazed, holding up a hand as he hauled himself up. "I'm ok."

"Like I said," Tommy grinned, letting Tubbo grab his arm to keep him steady. _"Shite."_

"Hey, I _blocked_ the ball!"

"And nearly lost your first life in the process, dumbass -"

"Hey, I'll have you know my Chat says I did very well, dickhead. So screw you."

They laughed, and Tommy promptly forgot what he'd been upset about.

* * *

Four years passed, and no Chat appeared in Tommy's head.

He was ok with that. After watching Wilbur's chat turn from helpful info and kind teasing to malicious mockery and cries for destruction, after watching Techno's chat drive him to murder everyone at the Manberg festival, after watching Tubbo's chat drive him to a self destructive spiral one evening - a day Tommy didn't like to think about - after all that, he has decided that maybe a lack of voices was a good thing. It seemed like life was easier like that.

Then he'd been exiled. 

He knows he deserved it, deep down. But outwardly, he simply refused to accept that he'd done anything wrong. He remembers screaming at his friend, high up on that obsidian wall, refusing to so much as look at him anymore. He remembers rowing away from recognizable lands over the dark water as a storm raged, Ghostbur chattering obliviously in the background. And he remembers weeks of loneliness, of struggling, of Dream beating him down but Tommy always getting back up, suppressing panic attacks for a quick quip and cheeky grin, holding back tears to distract himself with builds and mining. Tommyinnit always got back up when he was knocked down. Always. It was kind of his thing. For a while, he'd actually been good. He'd been fine.

Three weeks into his exile, his Chat had appeared in his head.

It started out slow. Quiet. A humming murmur in the back of his mind that he didn't recognize or understand. Then they'd got louder. _This is pathetic,_ one of them groaned in despair. _You're wasting away out here. Just put us all out of our misery._

Then they were no longer a quiet procession, and instead began to roar an unintelligible stream of feedback at all times, never shutting up, never dying down. A constant scream of negativity. _What the fuck are we still doing here? Go back to L'manberg, pussy, or just give up! What is wrong with you? How'd you even end up out here, what did you do? This isn't fair! This isn't fucking fair!_

They were unlike any chat he'd ever had described to him. Tommy couldn't count how many there were - it was at _least_ ten, probably more, they never calmed down enough for him to tell. And they were always so angry. The first day Dream had come back to visit him after they had arrived, he'd told Tommy to put his armour in a hole for him to blow up. All his hard work, gone. Every other time this had happened, he'd fought back, he'd screamed and spat insults at the masked man even if he was eventually forced to do it. This time, the Chat was screaming in his mind. _You can't fucking let him do this!_ they shouted, a jumbled mess of rage fueled noise. _Coward, coward, coward, are you just gonna lay down and let this happen? Who are you, Tubbo? You don't take shit, coward, get up! What's wrong with you? Get up!_

He couldn't get up.

"Too _loud,"_ he'd sobbed, laying on the ground next to the hole, clutching his head. "Dream, Dream, make them go _away."_

Dream had crouched next to him, petting his hair so gently in a way that made Tommy shiver. "Your Chat finally arrived?" he asked softly, and Tommy had been too exhausted to do anything but nod. How had he known about Tommy's Chat not being there in the first place? He didn't know, and then, it hadn't mattered. He'd just fallen against Dream's chest and shook, reveling in the comfort of arms around him.

The truth was, Tommy was scared of the silence. He always had been. It was just something he couldn't stand, the pure nothingness making his brain feel like it was exploding, making him feel small and making his thoughts too loud. He couldn't fucking stand it. That was why he was already talking, making noise to fill the miles of empty space around himself. And Logsteadshire, the place where he'd been exiled, was nothing but silence, driving Tommy mad. Then his voices came. Cramming every inch of his head with strangled screaming and fury, despair, wails of _it's not fair_ and _what did we do to deserve this?_ It was still better than silence. He hated that it was still better than silence.

The first time they shut up was the day Tommy and Tubbo reunited, for only an hour. Then they'd started again, quieter now. _Wow, that was fucked up. He ordered an execution on Technoblade. Didn't you both once look up to him? Gods, this is a shitty situation, isn't it! Are you gonna choose Tubbo or Techno? Terrible choice A or terrible choice B? Take your pick! Take your pick!_

They'd shut up completely when Tommy had been thrown in prison. Weeks upon weeks of silence.

* * *

He doesn't know why, but they're back now. They're all back.

"What do you want?" he mutters to himself, letting the Enderchest lock again and switching to look in the normal chest. There are a few various outfits packed inside, along with medical supplies, potions, and some bread and apples. He hungrily reaches for the food and eats as quickly as he can, desperate to choke it all down in case whoever lives here comes back and kicks him out. "Where _were_ you fuckers for the last month and a half?"

 _Hiding, hiding,_ they sing, almost mockingly. _We thought you were going to die. But you're alive. Food. Warmth. Wilbur. Where are you, Tommyinnit? Not dead, but where?_

He sighs, sitting back as his stomach rolls. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten quite so rapidly. "Dunno," he mumbles, wrapping his arms tightly round himself. "I'm not hallucinating, yeah?"

_Nope. Probably not. All real. Maybe. We could be wrong._

"Thanks, all of you," the boy huffs, before pulling out some of the clothes and medical stuff. He finds that the second door he'd seen leads to a small bathroom. It takes a few minutes to figure out that this house has been set up with redstone, and Tommy doesn't have to heat the water manually, which is a luxury he's only ever had when living with Techno and during his stay in Business Bay in SMP Earth. He knows he should most definitely not be here, and he knows he should go and figure out what exactly is going on with his current situation, but he frankly couldn't care less about either point. He just wants to be clean. And within the hour he is, for the first time in nearly two months. His torn, burnt old t-shirt and khakis (which he mourns greatly; they were his favourites, had knee pockets and everything) are shoved under the floorboards, and he's now wearing the clothes from the chest. A plain white tee and black hoodie, dark blue jeans, and a pair of iron-toe boots that come halfway up his calves. The assortment of plain clothes in the chest gives Tommy no further clothes as to who this house belongs to, which worries him slightly. In any case, he's finally managed to clean and dress most of his wounds, a feat that took nearly all the time he was actually in the bathroom. The worst injuries are his right hand, which is bloody and bruised from punching the obsidian wall of his cell, and his chest, which twangs with pain every time he breathes too deeply. By the time he's done patching himself up, he looks almost normal. Well, his body does. There's a mirror in the bathroom, but he's too afraid to look at his reflection.

The potions in the chest are mostly that of healing - one of which Tommy drinks, just because he's hungry and weak and feels like he'll pass out if he doesn't - but there is one for invisibility, which he also takes. If this really, actually is somehow the past, it'd probably be best not to be seen, just for now at least. Just until he can figure out what's going on. So he drinks the potion, shivering as the icy chill freezes his bones and carries the colour out of his skin until he's no longer visible. Then he slips out of the house, following the light he sees in the distance of the cool night.

He doesn't see the pair of eyes watching him from the darkness, the triumphant smile tracing the person's lips.

* * *

Tommy already knows this can't be a hallucination. He knows. But it's not until he's out of the forest and can fully see his surroundings that he freezes, that the realization properly dawns on him.

 _L'manberg_. The old L'manberg. Wilbur and Tommy's L'manberg. The walls, standing proud black and yellow, undestroyed. Inside, he can see green swaths of land, pools of sparkling water, trees that stretch far above the walls, flowers and bushes and life. And at the centre of it all… at the centre of it all is the Camarvan. _Wilbur's_ Camarvan. Tommy remembers nights brewing potions with Wilbur and Tubbo and Fundy, the strangest ragtag, misfit family they could ever be. Days of stealing materials and conning people, Tommy using his persuasion skills to convince people to give up their things, battles that barely meant anything fought and victories won over the littlest things. The days when war was just a word they tossed around that meant nothing. The days before things went to shit. Before the betrayals, before the deaths, before the fighting and the hiding and the fear.

_His L'manberg._

Tommy can't see Wilbur or anyone else anymore, but he knows where the entrance through the walls is like the back of his hand, and slips inside as quickly as he can to dodge a nearby zombie. Inside, torches light up as far as the eye can see, casting glowing orange lights across the dewy grass and illuminating the water. It's somehow more beautiful than Tommy remembers it, even though it's barely anything. "Wow," he can't help but whisper under his breath. His Chat murmurs in agreement. "I… missed this."

_Missed this. Been such a long time since we were happy like this, Tommyinnit. So young. War barely begun. Wilbur. Tubbo. No prison, no fear. Cat and Mellohi._

Tommy's about to whisper a reply when he hears someone shriek with laughter, a cacophony of voices overlapping as a door slams open. Tommy stiffens and hugs himself, momentarily forgetting his invisibility, eyes locked on the door of the Camarvan as the noise leaks out into the quiet night.

"- Until tomorrow, boys!" someone shouts, and now Tommy sees Eret. They look somehow so much younger, frizzy light hair stuffed under their tricorne hat, dark glasses covering the glowing eyes that Tommy knows are underneath. They hop down the steps, waving and flashing a white grin as they walk away. "Goodnight, and stay safe! Long live the revolution!"

A chorus echoes his words from inside the van, and Tommy jolts as he realizes exactly whose voices he can pick out from the cacophony of noise. _Surely not,_ he thinks, a phrase he'd picked up from Tubbo long ago. _Surely not. Surely._

Wilbur is next to emerge. He's shed his hat and jacket, which is wrapped around his waist, but he shivers in the evening air and pulls it back around his shoulders. "You should get some sleep, boys," he announces with a tired smile. "Big day ahead of us tomorrow."

And then three kids appear behind Wilbur and Tommy's heart stops.

The first boy looks very young, maybe fourteen or so, with an explosion of bright orange hair and sparkling dark eyes. His black nose twitches as he grins with sharp teeth, white whiskers glinting in the light, and he claps his hands and cackles with delight. "We're gonna fight Dre-eam!" Fundy sing songs, his voice so much higher and childish than Tommy is used to. "And we're gonna wi-in!"

"I didn't even get my emeralds back," someone groans, and Tommy claps his hands over his mouth as a boy with messy, strawberry blonde hair and blue-green eyes follows behind, pouting and carrying an empty bottle in hand. His face is clear and unscarred, full of colour, life. "I grinded for _hours_ for those. Nine whole bloody _stacks_ , Wilbur -"

"Oh, calm it, Tubzo, we'll get them back," comes the last voice. "Do not fret, do not fret! You're such a worrier, learn to live a little!"

A boy with wavy golden hair, vibrant blue eyes, a smattering of freckles across pink cheeks. A cocky grin reveals red braces, one front tooth missing. Tommy feels the gap in his own mouth. Fuck, but he doesn't think he can breathe anymore, because holy shit, holy _shit_ , this is actually real. It's actually real. He's staring at living proof that he's in the past, a past he thought he'd never get a chance to know again.

"Shut up about worrying, Tommy, you're not the one who lost nine stacks of emeralds!" Tubbo huffs, punching the other boy in the arm. 

Past Tommy shrieks and hits him back a lot harder than necessary. "Don't you touch me, arsehole, I'll have you in a fight any day."

Tubbo raises an eyebrow, spinning on heel to face the younger boy. He's trying to hide a grin. Tommy knows the faces he makes by heart. "Really? Really? You, me, scrap, right here, right now -"

"Boys, boys!" Wilbur cries, turning from where he'd been quietly whispering something to Fundy just in time to see Past Tommy take a lunge at Tubbo, the two of them rolling down the steps and onto the grass in a scuffled fistfight. The older man sighs with exasperation, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're dirtying your uniforms and you're setting a bad example for Fundy. Come on, get up and be serious about this! This situation is no laughing matter!"

"Yeah, no one will be laughing when I - put a _hole_ \- in Tubbo's _head,"_ Past Tommy pants, grabbing the other boy by the wrists and flipping himself over so he's on top of him. "Any last words before I pummel you into the ground, prick -"

Tubbo jolts upright without warning and throws Past Tommy off balance with another shriek, and Wilbur sighs heavily before sitting on the steps of the van and pulling Fundy onto his lap. "Do not do as they do, _liefje,"_ he tells him firmly. "They are foolish children and you know better than to - _hey!_ If one of you gets hurt, I'm not even gonna help! Me and Fundy are just gonna sit here and laugh at you, aren't we, Fundy! We're just gonna sit here and go _ha ha ha, ha ha ha, look at those dumb, idiot children -"_

"Go fuck yourself, Wilbur," Past Tommy yells. He and Tubbo have ceased fire, both laying next to each other on the grass and breathing heavily. Tubbo's arm is swung across Past Tommy's chest, and Future Tommy feels another stab of pain in his heart. He's _missed_ this. This casual, warm contentedness, play fights and teasing banter and the air of family, of safety. He clutches his hands close to his chest and evens his breathing, something like longing aching inside of him.

"Don't use such language in front of the fucking child," Wilbur shoots back, which makes them all laugh. Even Future Tommy stifles a giggle, blinking rapidly as the backs of his eyes burn.

"Dad said _fuck,"_ Fundy sings under his breath. Wilbur groans, but he's smiling.

"That one was you, not me," Past Tommy says. He sighs, suddenly grabbing Tubbo's arm and throwing it off him. "Get off me, clingy bastard."

Tubbo sits up with a laugh. "Oh, _I'm_ the clingy bastard? Who was the one who woke up last night at like, two am, to call me and ask if he could come round cause he couldn't sleep -"

"I was _bored!"_ Past Tommy yells, flushing. "Literally, man, I was so _unbelievably_ bored -"

"Alright," Wilbur says loudly to silence the bickering. He presses a quick kiss to the back of Fundy's head and lifts him off his legs so he can get to his feet. "Playtime's over. We should all sleep now, alright? Tubbo, we'll get your emeralds back, promise. Tommy, you're a prick. Goodnight!"

Past Tommy splutters as Wilbur takes Fundy's hand to lead him back inside. The fox boy goes red, tugging away. "Dad, I'm two years old and even _older_ in human years, 'm not a baby. I know when to go to bed."

The door to the van closes behind them before Tommy can hear a response. He glances back over to the young duo, heart panging as he studies how healthy and free they look. Tubbo pipes up first. "D'you wanna stay at my place? We can go to the bench first and play a disc."

A grin splits Past Tommy's face, although he shrugs casually in the way he always does when he's hiding how he's feeling. "Yeah, sure," he says nonchalantly. "Race you for choice of first disc!"

Then they're off, and Future Tommy is darting after them as quickly as he can, which really isn't very fast. Nearly two months of barely having space to walk has made his muscles much weaker, and he finds he has to stop several times as black spots dance in front of his eyes. By the time he's out through the walls and is beginning to climb the steps up the hill, Past Tommy and Tubbo are already at the bench, bickering loudly.

"That's _so_ not fair!" Tubbo sulks, plopping down on the seat angrily. "You've got longer legs than me, arsehole."

"Well, that's not my fault," Past Tommy grins. He's rooting through his Enderchest, though Future Tommy can't see the contents. He doesn't know why he thought he might be able to. "I'm just tall and cool and the ladies love me."

"You're a bloody giant," Tubbo laughs. "You and Wilbur. I don't know where you get it from, 'cause it's _definitely_ not Philza Minecraft, that's for sure -"

The two explode into laughter as Tommy pulls a green vinyl case from his chest. Future Tommy's heart skips, and he bites down hard on his knuckles. "Who knows, maybe my mum was an Enderman," his younger self jokes. "Or an iron gollum."

Tubbo leans forward curiously. "Are you putting in Cat?" he asks, sounding surprised. "I thought you preferred Chirp. Or Mellohi."

Past Tommy shrugs again. "I like both. Don't give me that look, I'm not playing it just because _you_ like it, arsewipe." He quickly changes the subject. "D'you think we're ready for tomorrow?"

The sun has nearly already set, just the smallest tinge of red in the sky as the last sliver of daylight slips below the horizon. Tommy finds himself sitting down underneath the tree behind the bench, pulling his legs to his chest and settling himself in between the roots. He can't see the younger kids faces, but he doesn't need to; he's been here before. He's lived this memory already. He knows that Tubbo's going to lean back, casually shifting closer to Tommy, thinking for a moment as the music rises. "I think we are," he says confidently. "I mean, we've got loads of materials. Even if I lost all my emeralds."

"They've got better shit," Past Tommy says grimly. He breathes out sharply. "Listen, I - I want you to stay safe, alright? It's gonna suck if one of us fucking dies or some shit, so I'm… Uh. I'm." He hesitates, scratching the back of his head, and Future Tommy sucks in a breath as he remembers what's about to happen. "I made something really fucking stupid, you know, and now I'm giving you it."

Tubbo looks over at the other boy, perplexed. "Tom, what -" he starts, but then Tommy shoves something into his hands, flushing fiercely. Tubbo opens the material in his hands. "Oh! Oh, this is nice!"

It's a checkered red bandanna, which Tubbo pulls through his fingers with joy in his eyes. "Did you make this?" the boy exclaims, admiration evident in every inch of his face. Future Tommy softens at the sight. He wants to live in this memory forever. "Tommy, this is nice! Thank you, man!"

Past Tommy shoves Tubbo away from him, scoffing and rolling his eyes despite how his cheeks are tinted pink. "Oh, whatever," he mutters. "Sap. Can we go to yours and get some sleep? I feel like a dead man walking, except for I'm currently sitting. I'm like a dead man sitting, Tubbo."

Tubbo snorts. "Alright. But if you wake up at an ungodly hour to come lay on my bed, I must warn you, I _will_ end up latching onto you and not letting go. Then when you wake up at bloody six am, you'll have to wait another five hours for me to wake up."

"Pfft, like hell I will - lazy arsehole."

"Not everyone's a weirdo morning person like you, Tommy! Some people have messed up sleep schedules!"

Future Tommy watches them fondly, something warm yet heavy in his chest at the sight. He unconsciously reaches for his neck, where the bandanna that Tubbo had clumsily made for him a month or so after Tommy gave the boy his one is usually tied. Payback, the older boy had called it. A jab strikes his heart as he remembers he lost it during Doomsday, on one of his many respawns he'd had throughout the day. His throat feels exposed without it.

He's just about to stand and follow the kids away himself when Past Tommy pulls up his menu, frowning at the glowing white screen. "Tubbo, what's the date?"

The older boy taps his cheek. "The first," he says after a moment, and Tommy freezes. "First of August."

Past Tommy brightens. "It's Vikkstar's birthday tomorrow," he grins. "I'm gonna send him a whisper. Bet ten diamonds he'll respond, Tubbo, bet."

"What _is_ it with you and Vikkstar?" Tubbo laughs. They're walking away now, back down the steps. "And I'm absolutely not betting, no way. Not even a single diamond."

"Come on, _one -"_

"No!"

Their voices fade out, and Tommy's head begins to whirl.

_Tomorrow's the second of August. The day of the Battle of the Two Towers. The day of Eret's betrayal. The day you and your family all lose a life, an important life, in the Final Control Room. The day L'manberg is blown up for the first time. The day you duel Dream and lose two lives to him in twelve hours. The day you lose your discs and give up everything for a nation that doesn't love you._

_The day you make Wilbur proud._

_Not that he should be proud,_ pipes up his Chat, who had been silent the entire time up until now. _You were such an idiot, losing your discs forever, and for what? Stupidinnit. Dumbinnit. Gullibleinnit._

"Shut up," he mumbles. The sun has set. Tommy sits on the bench where his past self has been several moments prior and watches the stars. His invisibility potion is slowly starting to wear off, leaving him almost transparent, like a ghost. Like Ghostbur. Tommy winces at the name; it's hard to think about Ghostbur right after seeing Wilbur so alive and well, nowhere near the state he'd been in when he blew up the country they were currently fighting so hard for.

...He can change things.

_He can change things._

The realization strikes like lightning during Doomsday, and he leaps to his feet and promptly begins pacing. Karl had, somehow, sent him back in time to fix all the shit that had happened. He'd said as much before Tommy passed out. He'd said… Tommy rubs his temples, trying to think through the throbbing promise of a headache, noting how his hands haven't stopped shaking in hours. Karl has said Tommy was the link between everything. He doesn't know what that means, but he'd been sent back for a reason. It couldn't be a coincidence that he'd arrived here the day before August 2nd. He must be supposed to fix things, make them better this time around.

_Like you can fix anything. You just make messes of things. Hurt people. This timeline is good. You'll fuck it up. Guys, don't be so mean. Calm down. Fuck-up-innit. Stupidinnit._

"Shut it," he mumbles, but he refuses to let Chat get him down this time. "I'm going to fix things."

There is a constellation in the sky called Corona Borealis. It's made up of seven stars that form the shape of a semicircle, and is positioned in the northern celestial hemisphere of the sky. It borders the constellation of Hercules, which was one of Tubbo's favourites; maybe that explains his love for both of the star formations. Only four of the seven stars are named; Alphecca, Kamui, Moldoveanu, and Nusakan. The brightest star in the constellation is Alphecca, which is 75 light years away from their planet.

Tommy knows all this because of Tubbo. While Tommy was always known for being the kid who was good with his words, better at writing and acting and persuading, Tubbo was the science whiz who had all the facts. He knew about a whole assortment of random things, from stars to bees to explosives to the human body. He always had fun facts at the ready, and would often drop them on Tommy whenever he thought he needed cheering up.

That was how they'd ended up talking about stars for hours. It was a subject that fascinated the both of them, which surprised Tubbo especially - Tommy's attention span was shit, and he never could pay attention for long - and it had sort of become something that bonded the two of them. Stars. Space. Tommy's scanning the sky, his gaze finally landing on the familiar constellation. A smile tugs at his lips. Finally, something to hold onto that doesn't hurt.

_Things are gonna change this time round._

_I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok man i wasn't expecting so much of a response for the first chapter? i'm glad so many people like this and i hope i will not disappoint :]]


	3. Memories and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tommy has some dreams. and Memories. i title things very well. anyway *sally face theme plays*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: panic attacks, blood and unintentional self harm, tommy has a minor breakdown but dw he's fine it's all good

"Our people have been beaten down by rules and dictators for so long," are the words that echo from that tinny black microphone, standing lopsided on the presidential podium. Tubbo stands before it, grinning in his too-big suit, the sleeves falling over his knuckles despite how Tommy had attempted to fix them earlier when they'd spoken. He doesn't even know why he'd tried; habit, he supposes. Tubbo had looked grateful. Tommy had told him to be safe. Now his work's been undone, and he can hear the material of Tubbo's blazer brushing the mic as he talks. "And now we are finally free. Free to elect who we want, free to live how we want, and, most importantly, free to go wherever we want without the _confines_ of those huge black walls!"

A minor cheer rises up in the crowd. Tommy feels practically sick. He bites down on the side of his hand, desperately trying to stop himself from trembling. The roof upon which he's perched is cold and hurts his knees after staying still for so long, but he doesn't dare shift. Any movement could attract the attention of someone on the stage, and none of them are people that Tommy wants looking over at them right now. Not even Tubbo. Tubbo, who's Tommy's best friend, brother, partner in crime. His lip trembles as he attempts to understand the words Tubbo is saying. Does he really think those things? How much is he making up to please Schlatt? 

A simple glance towards Wilbur, crouched next to him, makes his heart race somehow faster. He looks determined. Eyes fixed on the small blonde boy in his oversized outfit on the stage. Fuck, but the boy's words sting and Tommy's shaking with cold and fear. He doesn't want to see L'manberg blown up. _Please, Tubbo, don't say the trigger words. Please don't say the trigger words._

"So with that in mind," Tubbo continues, spreading his arms out beside him - and it doesn't escape Tommy's notice even from here how badly he's trembling, the toothy smile on his face too wide and forced. "I would like to thank you all for coming to this wonderful event!"

He steps back, and Tommy's relief couldn't be greater. He feels himself sag, a shuddering sigh escaping him before he claps a hand over his mouth, glancing over at Wilbur. His older brother looks grim, lips pressed harshly together, eyes narrowed and focused on the stage. Fingers white as they grip the side of the building. Neither brother moves. They're waiting, waiting for the festival to start so they can continue. Waiting for a verdict.

And then Schlatt starts laughing.

A soft giggle at first, almost completely unheard by the audience. Then it explodes into a wheezy cackle, and the man doubles over clutching his stomach as he gasps with sheer joy. But it's not _joy_ that's driving him; even from here, Tommy can see the twisted curl of the man's lip, the flare of his yellow eyes as he calms and opens them again. Tubbo and Quackity glance over, the former perplexed, the latter amused. Tubbo's hands find his tie and grip it tightly. "What's - what's wrong, Schlatt?"

A breathy sigh escapes the dictator, and Tommy's chest feels tighter just looking at the smug look of triumph on his face. Fucking prick. "Oh, it's nothing," the man murmurs in his deep tone, a grin splitting his face in a way that makes unease roil in Tommy's stomach. "I was just thinking about it, Tubbo. You know how we like to have fun."

Tubbo nods, swallowing hard. "Y-Yeah, we like to have fun. What's - what's up, Schlatt?"

"You got anything else in that speech?" Schlatt asks, instead of answering. He doesn't look at the boy next to him. His eyes are fixed on some point far past the crowd, like he's barely paying attention. But he is. They all feel the spark of tension in the air.

Tubbo stiffens, fumbling in front of him for the mic. "Uh, no!" he says, voice much higher pitched than it had been previously. There's a split second where the boy's gaze falls exactly where Tommy and Wilbur are hiding out, and he instinctively ducks, breath catching. "Let the festival begin!"

_The trigger words._

Wilbur moves faster than Tommy even thought possible. He's on his feet in a second, scrambling across the stone without caring if he was seen, a darkness in his eyes that makes Tommy feel frozen to the spot, because this is really happening, this is really happening. "Wilbur," he whispers hoarsely, unable to stop his voice shaking. "Will, _wait -"_

Then his eyes flicker to the stage again, and everything goes quiet.

Schlatt is walking across the stage to where Quackity is, calmly, that smirk still fixed on his face. "Quackity, Quackity," the man practically purrs, and a shiver of disgust shoots through Tommy's chest. "Help me do something for a quick second."

A stack of blocks, bright yellow blocks, appears in Schlatt's hands. He must have already had them at the ready in his hotbar, because his inventory didn't open. "Yes sir," Quackity replies, just as quietly. He takes half the blocks, holding them as Schlatt crosses back to the other side of the stage. Together, the two of them begin to place the blocks around Tubbo, like they're - like they're boxing him in.

"Schlatt, what are you - what are you - Schlatt?" Tubbo stammers nervously, suddenly scared, still tugging on his green tie. Tommy can't look away. "Schlatt? Uh, Schlatt?"

Both men ignore him. In the crowd, Tommy can hear people beginning to stir. "Schlatt, what are you doing?" Fundy asks loudly, standing up next to his seat. "What is this?"

Once Schlatt and Quackity are satisfied with their work, the president waves a hand towards his vice to send him back to his original position before turning to face Tubbo, finally. "I'll cut to the fuckin' chase," he says, and there's something sharp in his words that sends fear shooting through Tommy, paralyzing him to the spot. "It embarrasses me to have to say this in front of everybody, really, it's kind of awkward -"

 _"Schlatt,"_ Tubbo repeats, and he sounds terrified in a way Tommy's never heard from the boy before. He's pounding on the sides of the yellow walls that encase him, shaking, his chest rising and falling much faster than it should be. "I - I can't get _out,_ Schlatt - I can't -"

"Tubbo," Schlatt says, and there's that slight giggle again, piercing the calm just briefly. "I know what you've been up to."

The colour drains from Tubbo's face so fast it's almost dizzying. And Tommy - Tommy's immediately on his feet, materializing his sword and an Ender pearl because he'll be fucking _damned_ before he lets Schlatt hurt his best friend - but then Wilbur is at his side again. A hand on his shoulder, steadying him. _Be ready,_ says the silence. _But don't attack yet._

* * *

Tommy is floating.

The void is darker than anything he can comprehend, and it stretches eternally in every direction the eye can see. His eyes can't adjust, so he squeezes them shut, waiting - and sure enough, when he opens them again, the stars are out. Beaming dots of white light scattered in random spots in the sky like crumbs thrown out for the birds. Tommy hangs still in the void, cold air lapping his skin like water even though, logically, he shouldn't be able to breathe at all. He waits until the universe adjusts, and the Astronaut appears.

She is made of stars and light, at first, until her form adjusts and Tommy can look at her without squinting. She still has her helmet on over her face, a black screen keeping the boy from seeing what she looks like, every inch of skin covered. Nothing but the white material of her featureless suit, which gives nothing away about her. And she is larger than life. A hydrogen, helium giant that glows softly against the black. Tommy can't even crane his neck back far enough to see the top of her head unless he lets himself fall, which he doesn't do yet. He stares, as he always does, relaxing into the cold.

"Who are you?" he asks, on reflex. 

The Astronaut laughs. Her voice is beautiful, soft, her words flowing into each other as she speaks. "You ask this every night that you are here," she says, and Tommy swears the air is warmer now. "And every night I give the same answer. I cannot tell you."

He pouts, crossing his arms and leaning back against the nothingness that's holding him up. "Alright then, arsehole. I'll just keep making up new names for you."

He hears a smile in her tone. "I liked Clara. That one was nice."

He doesn't give her a response, although he feels his face flush. "You brought me out of a nightmare again," he tells her. "So yeah. Thanks for that."

She nods, a low rumbling shaking the void as she shifts. "Which nightmare?" she asks, gently.

Tommy lowers his head. "The festival."

A soft snort. "Which one?"

He rolls his eyes this time. "Manberg." He winces at the name, remembering how it had sounded in Schlatt's rasp tone the day he'd exiled him and Wilbur. "It was about Tubbo again, obviously."

A pause. "But that hasn't happened in this timeline you're in, has it?" she says, and Tommy's head snaps up. "You can change it."

"How do you know?" he shouts. His voice is lost in the emptiness, but he knows she hears. "About the time travel bullshit?"

Another laugh, and Tommy leans back to see her helmet shaking. "I know everything about this universe. You have been sent to fix the mistakes of yourself and others - a lot of pressure for such a young boy."

He inhales sharply, mind whirring. "If you know everything, then surely you know how I can fix it," he says, clenching his fists. He doesn't feel pain as his nails dig into the soft pads of his skin. "Tell me, Clara, please!"

She sighs at the name, and she seems almost smaller after a moment, a pause. "I'm sorry, Theseus," she murmurs, and Tommy feels something warm brush his face like a hand that he can't help but lean into. "I cannot tell you everything yet."

The void burns, burns with cold and before Tommy can open his mouth -

* * *

He is awake, eyes open and fixed on the ceiling with a soft gasp.

Shitty dreams again. He's starting to get sick of them. Tommy sits himself up on trembling arms, coughing wildly into his sleeve and glancing around his surroundings. He's still in the house on the edge of the forest. _Not the village, not L'manberg, not Logsteadshire, not Techno's house, not Snowchester._

He takes a moment to steady himself, breathing through the dizzy waves that make him feel sick. He needs to distract himself. Needs to get ready for the day.

Tommyinnit loves lists.

That's one thing he's always had a fondness for. Something about knowing everything you want to do and jotting it all down in a nice, neat order is so satisfying, and helps his muddled brain keep track at the very least. So when he studies the tiny cabin again and finds an empty book with clean, white pages, a grin spreads across his face. Whoever owns this place has yet to return, so he might as well take custody of all this unused paper. It's just going to waste otherwise.

He opens to page one, tugs out the quill pen from the middle of the book, and writes.

**_Tommyinnit's list of Important Things to do in the Future_ **

_1) It is August Second. I need to prevent Eret's betrayal from killing Tubbo, Wilbur, Fundy and Myself and makes sure I somehow win the Bow Duel against Dream_

Easier said than done. He sticks the end of the quill into his mouth, humming to himself as he thinks.

_2) Make sure Schlatt doesn't join the SMP/become president. No festivals._

_3) No TNT. No Dream. No Withers. Don't let Wilbur go off the rails this time._

_4) No exile._

_5) Keep my family Tubbo and Wilbur safe. And Fundy if that is Possible. Only because Wilbur cares about him and he is sometimes not all that bad of a guy_

_6) Find Karl Jacobs and figure out what the fuck he did to me_

He lets the ink dry. While he does, he turns to the next page and begins to doodle messily. The ink of the pen is nowhere near as vast and dark as Clara's void, but it's good enough. The tip of the quill scratches the page as he draws, the astronaut coming to life on the page.

Tubbo was the only one he'd ever told about his weird dreams involving the astronaut made of stars, and it was only because he'd once woken crying out for Clara, disoriented and confused. He'd admitted that he didn't know why he constantly dreamed about her, or why she never showed her face or revealed her name or called him Theseus the same way Techno did. She was just there, over and over and over.

"You like to draw, yeah?" Tubbo had said, and handed him a blank book from his desk. "Draw her for me."

And he had, quite a few times over the next long while. Even after he'd been exiled, he found himself doodling constellations and blank helmets on every page. Dream had blown up the book along with everything else. Holding a new one feels wrong, but strangely nostalgic.

He doesn't know what time it is until the sun starts coming up at about four thirty, and he goes outside to watch it. He wishes he had a disc and a jukebox. Sunrises and sunsets are another couple of his favourite things, and he'd missed them during his time in the Vault. Once he's satisfied, he heads back inside to properly prepare for the day. First things first; he decides he needs to look in the mirror.

It's been literal months since he's last looked at himself, and he must admit he's nervous. It takes him a few minutes of awkwardly psyching himself up to even manage to step into the bathroom. "Come on, big man," he tells himself with false cheer, attempting to rekindle the pep in his step. "It won't be that bad. Women love you and shit. Always… always throwing themselves at you wherever you go. Can't look that bad, can you?"

Even he has to admit it's halfhearted.

_Come on, Tommyinnit! Get it over with, Gods damn. We've got shit to be doing that's more important than your weird face. Guys, don't be so mean, the man's stressed. I don't care! Well, you should. Shut up. Shut up! Hurry up, fucking hell!_

Ok, so Chat is being extremely unhelpful, as usual. He just sighs and raps his knuckles against the side of the porcelain sink, wincing at the pain in his right hand. "Fuck you guys. Why the hell are you always so unhelpful and rude? You're worse than Techno's Chat."

_Like Player, like Chat. No, that's so mean! But it's true. So true. Mean, mean Tommy. Meaninnit. Rudeinnit. Unhelpfulinnit. You're just stalling, now._

He doesn't grace that with a response. Instead, he grips the edges of the mirror and breathes out heavily. "Alright," he mutters, and looks up at his reflection.

He's quiet for a long moment as he studies himself.

His skin is ashen and drawn close to his face. He's thinner, his bones more prominent. His eyes are no longer blue, instead just a dark, steely grey, no light to them anymore. There are dark shadows under them like bruises. His freckles are barely visible anymore, simply grey marks splattered across his face. His hair is lackluster and flat. Everything about him is just dim and colourless, and he looks sick and sad and small and _pathetic_. 

He swallows hard and tries to smile at himself. His lips are cracked, and the bottom one blooms with blood as it stretches.

_Gods, you look horrendous. Look like shit. Feel like shit. Tired. Are you sick? Depressed ass bitch LMAOOO. Guys, shut it. Sadinnit. Dude you need a haircut for fuck's sake. Mans sad mans sad mans sad._

"Alright then," Tommy says aloud, feeling bile rising in his throat. "So I look like shit, who fucking cares? I certainly don't. Mans is - mans is more than his looks, yeah? And we all know how… how people love my personality." He clears his throat and talks faster, louder to drown out his Chat. "I am so fucking brilliant. I just look like I'm fucking depressed and sick and shit, but hey, I feel fine and I've got the pep in me step and I'm still me, I am still big man Tommyinnit and I'm better than all of you bastards in me 'ead, so you can shut the fuck _up -"_

Without a moment to think, he pulls his book from his inventory and slams it into the mirror.

It shatters instantly, as instantly as Tommy regrets his actions. He ducks against the flurry of broken glass, crying out as the pieces he couldn't shield himself against cut into his skin. _"Fuck!"_ he cries, white light burning behind his eyes and static drowning out his thoughts. "Fuck, fuck, I _hate_ this, what the fuck is _wrong_ with me? Why's it always this shit, with the - with the - why can't I just get _over_ shit once it's done? Fucking Ender, I'm sitting here losing it over my fucking reflection after I've watched my whole family _die_ right in front of me, why is _this_ what's setting me off? What the fuck, this is bullshit!"

 _It's called trauma,_ chirps Chat unhelpfully. _Didn't Techno tell you that no one heals in a day? This shit's overwhelming. And you're terrible at coping. For real, you're shit at this._

Tommy slumps to the floor and stares at his displaced reflection in the pieces of himself all over the floor, eyes wide and dry, his chest tight, all the anger drained from him.

* * *

He cuts his hair with the biggest piece of glass he can find on the floor.

Tommy's never cut his own hair before, but it's too long and gets in his eyes and he's desperate for _some_ sense of normalcy, some sense of things belonging as they should be. Chunks of dim blonde flutter to the floor at his feet, and he suppresses a hiss of pain each time the glass catches on his ears or the back of his neck. By the time he's done, he looks like… well, he looks like he had a dissociative panic attack and chopped his hair with a piece of glass. He lets out a manic chuckle, running his hands through his new trim. His hands come away bloody, but there isn't much he can do about that.

He needs to get into L'manberg now, he knows, but he's also come to the realization that he doesn't have any more invisibility potions. He's not sure how he's going to get in without being noticed, which would probably be the worst scenario right now. If people here knew that the future was so bad that fucking _Tommyinnit_ had been sent back to change things… it'd be chaos. He knows that much without a doubt. No, he'll need to act from the shadows, change things without getting directly involved.

But that is going to prove very difficult if he can't manage to at least sneak into L'manberg first. Fuck, he's _kicking_ himself for using his only invisibility potion last night. What is he supposed to do now? He doesn't have nether warts or blaze powder or any of the many difficult to acquire ingredients needed to make one himself, and the only place he knows for certain he can get them is in the Camarvan itself. He and Wilbur had taken all the brewing items on the server that they could get ahold of about a month ago, and now the only people who would even have potions would be Wilbur, Fundy, Tubbo, or -

He freezes. Or himself.

A stupid, stupid, _stupid_ idea begins to form in the back of Tommy's mind. Surely not. Surely he's not actually going to try this.

But hey, he can't think of anything better.

The first thing he does is tear a piece off his old red shirt, quickly washing it in water and wrapping it around the lower half of his face. It still smells like ash and smoke. The next thing he does is gather all the items he has into his inventory; his new book and quill, the shard of glass he'd used to cut his hair, and the few scraps of wood and iron that were left in the chest. There isn't much else he can find that will be of use, so once he's fully prepared to the best of his abilities, he slips out the house and begins to creep silently through the trees. 

* * *

Tommyinnit knows himself better than anyone else, of course. This is a fact that just makes sense.

There are several things he knows about himself that are true in both the past and the future. One - he likes to make lists. Two - he has a soft spot for cows and various other animals. Three - his discs are extremely important to him for reasons that would sound stupid to anyone else. Four - he'd die for the people he considers to be his family. Five - he is a morning person, and he _loves_ to watch the sunrise.

The people Tommy were usually around, however, didn't share the same sentiment. "Wake me up to look at that fucking ball of gas in the sky again," Wilbur had once hissed at him, tired and grumpy. "And I will stick your head in the bloody toilet."

He didn't wake Wilbur up for sunrises anymore after that. And Tubbo, unfortunately, was even more of a night owl than Wilbur, and was usually falling asleep around the time that the sun began to come up. So Tommy had taken to going out at four or five am every morning and coming back at seven or so, just to watch it himself. Sometimes he'd bring a jukebox and one of his discs. Sometimes he'd sit under a tree and draw. Whatever the case, Tommyinnit knows exactly where he'll find his past self this morning.

What he doesn't know is how he's going to do what he needs to do.

"This is so stupid," he hisses as he weaves further into the trees, squinting as rays of golden light blind him as they fall through the branches. "This is so reckless and dumb and stupid."

_No change from normal, then. When have you ever thought about the consequences of your actions before doing anything? Lmaoooo this hurts to watch. Oh no. Can we turn back?_

"See, that's the thing," Tommy continues in a whisper. The trees are thinning, showing how close he is to coming out the other side. "I _have_ to think about the fuckin' consequences now, don't I? I'm here to fix shit. I don't have - I can't risk -" He groans, snapping a branch from his face and wincing at the pain. "- I can't risk fucking shit up anymore. Bloody Ender, who thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of this?"

Then he falls silent, because he knows where he is now.

There is a cliff face far off from L'manberg that faces the ocean. This ocean turns into a river that flows into a snow biome and freezes to ice. Tommy knows it well. Right now, he can see his past self sitting on the edge and leaning against the dirt, listening to the music disc Chirp, on a jukebox beside him. He's wearing his L'manberg uniform already, and he looks content, staring lazily across the water below.

Tommy remembers a time when he wasn't scared of heights, and swallows back his anxiety. "Right, Chat," he whispers, keeping his voice as low as he can. "Now what the fuck do I do?"

 _Do a flip_ _,_ they chant in unison. _Do a flip. Do a flip. Do a flip._

He doesn't know why he even bothered to ask. He takes a single step forward, preparing to - to what? What was he going to do?

A branch snaps underneath his boots.

His past self jumps, pressing a button on the side of his jukebox to eject the disc and listen. "Hello?" the young boy bellows, looking mildly confused. "Who's out there?"

Ok, so he's fucked it up already. _I just need an invis pot,_ he thinks despairingly. _Why didn't I just try to steal one from the Camarvan? Actually, that would not have worked in the slightest. Dear Gods, this was a terrible idea._

Past Tommy gets to his feet, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows. "Alright," he mutters, brushing his hands together to get the dirt off from the ground. "Weird shit."

He gingerly pulls his disc from the jukebox and slips it back into his case before putting both items back into his inventory. Tommy's mind is whirring to come up with a new plan, but that all goes out the window a moment later - his past self has produced a diamond sword, glimmering purple and cyan with enchantment. "Too fuckin' early in the morning for this shit," Tommy hears the kid mutter to himself. "If someone broke my fucking torches, I'm gonna start _stabbing_ shit, I swear -"

 _He thinks he heard a hostile mob,_ Tommy realizes, and falls back without hesitation. Tommy and Tubbo had often jokingly been referred to as "the fighter" and "the builder" in the past, pertaining to the skill sets they exceeded in most - and Tommy wasn't eager to find himself on the blade end of any fighter this morning. He turns on heel and bolts, yanking his hood up over his head as he goes. He's fast. But he's also undernourished, weak and injured in several places, and finds himself stumbling. _"Hello?"_ he hears his own voice cry out again. "Who the fuck are you? Dream, Punz, I swear to fuck if one of you is spying on me, I'm kicking your ass into next fuckin' year!"

Tommy debates the irony of that statement before stumbling and finding himself falling, falling, falling -

And hitting a tree. He's tumbled down a hill, it seems, and he's lost his past self in the process. He gasps for the air that was knocked out of his lungs and scrambles behind a berry bush, ignoring the prickling against his clothes, trying to come up with an easy solution for this. Surely there had to be something. Surely Karl wouldn't have sent him back if he had no hope, if there was no way of changing his fate. Surely not. _Surely not._

And this is not the time to break down over the words he's just thought without realizing the ironic implications of, without remembering who he stole that phrase from so long ago.

"Who the fuck followed me out here?" Past Tommy yells. Footsteps crunch, and the air is cold enough to make Future Tommy shiver. "Gods dammit. I don't have the patience to… give a shit."

The boy's voice trails off with a hint of exhaustion in his tone, and Tommy wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream at him that this is not the most tired he will ever be, to enjoy what he has while he has it, to never take anything for granted. It hurts, all of a sudden, to know that _this kid could be me some day and he could hurt the same way I am. He could lose everything too._

He wants to continue delving further into the deep thoughts that are stirring in his mind, but Past Tommy has suddenly come into view, and Future Tommy sees potions strapped to a belt under his coat. And he doesn't think the way he should. He just does, and it's stupid, but when has Tommyinnit ever considered the consequences of his actions even in life or death situations?

Tommy leaps to his feet and knocks his past self onto his stomach.

The younger boy cries out in obvious fury, with only a hint of fear. "What the fuck!" he howls, trying to shove the unknown figure off of him. "Let me go, you motherfucker, what the hell - get off, get _off!"_

If someone had told Tommy three years ago that one day he'd be mugging _himself,_ he'd have said they were insane. But now he's pinning his younger self's arms behind him, trying not to cry out as a sword materializes in the boy's hands before cracking his wrist to drop it to the ground. Past Tommy cries out in pain, and Future Tommy is panicking; _why_ did he think this was a good idea? Without another moment of hesitation, he picks up the sword and slices through Past Tommy's belt where the potions were attached, grabbing as many as he could hold and rapidly scooping them into his inventory while scrambling to his feet again. But the younger boy has other plans; he rolls onto his side and blindly grabs Future Tommy's ankle, yanking him backwards to throw him off balance. Tommy swings the sword, and Past Tommy lets out a strangled cry of pain as the diamond blade cuts through skin. Future Tommy doesn't wait around. He kicks the younger boy off and runs, breathing heavily, heart racing so fast he thinks it might explode out of his chest but not daring to stop to think, just focused on getting as far away as possible.

He passes out from exhaustion as soon as he falls into the house and clumsily kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the stolen sword and potions. But not before one last passing comment from Chat goes through his mind.

_You've really, really fucked this one up, haven't you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i can't risk doing things without thinking of the consequences," says tommyinnit. "i'm gonna straight up jump my past self and see what happens," says tommyinnit.  
> anyway yeah i swear things are gonna happen next chapter. have fun good luck

**Author's Note:**

> i get the feeling this fic is gonna be fun!


End file.
